Memoirs – The Hermits' Rest

Thanks to Gene Roddenberry

Lee and I have been watching lots and lots of Star Trek series for the past many months. We watch one entire series and then move on to another. So far we have watched or rewatched Picard, Enterprise, Discovery, The Next Generation, and Strange New Worlds. we have now gotten into Deep Space 9. We skipped The Original Series (TOS) for reasons I’ll explain later.

Why do we do this? An easy answer would be that it’s not taking place now, and races solve their problems in that universe. It’s a pleasant diversion.

So are birds. Today we have a Brown-headed Cowbird.

I don’t know about Lee’s answer for watching these, but my answer turns out to be deeper. I started watching Star Trek TOS when it first went into repeats after the show ended. I couldn’t watch it before, because Gainesville, Florida didn’t have an ABC station back then. Yep. We only had CBS, NBC, and PBS. Very bad PBS.

And we had birds. Mom and I watched a lot of birds.

Reruns aired right after school, and I’d get in the phone with my friend Patti to dissect each episode as soon as it was over. We bought the big book with summaries of all the episodes in it and annotated our copies with our favorite scenes or sayings. We were very serious. Of course I still have the book.

After I moved away I watched it with new friends, avidly collecting the James Blish paperback books rehashing each episode. I read them until they fell apart. You can see why I have no need to watch that series again.

What I now realize was happening was exactly what many people feared would happen to the youth of America. I was sucked into believing every not-so-subtle criticism of the oppressive aspects of the USA at the time and slowly but surely became who I am now. Yes, Gene Roddenberry helped me pull together my morals, ethics, and political leanings. Thanks, Gene. You made me progressive.

And nothing makes me happier than to briefly slip into the universe those characters live in. I feel like I’m home with my imaginary family. Sure, they have a lot of battles and shootouts but they are usually so bad that you have to laugh. I like that people and cultures screw up, just like here.

Anyway, I’m not ashamed to be a Star Trek fan and can easily see why some folks are not. That’s fine; they have the Yellowstone universe to enjoy.

Now, there is a lot of silliness in Star Trek, some bad acting, and way too many time travel/other dimensions plot lines. I think the writers over the last 50+ years all really like time travel for easy storytelling. And I surely like some series better than others, but we plan to watch them all, even the cartoons.

As you can see, I have Star Trek on my mind.

This leads me to express my opinion on the current series, Strange New Worlds. I have heard it gets mixed reviews. But who cares? I love it even more than I loved TOS as a kid. The characters seem much less stereotypical, they have interesting experiences and real traumas. Plus you get the backstory to TOS. Captain Pike is so much more than a guy in a wheelchair thing! And his hair! The younger versions of all the beloved characters are so much fun and it’s cool to see how they all met.

But here’s where I’m controversial. I just love the weird episodes. My absolute favorite is the one where they act out the history of Star Trek from the beginning as part of some holodeck issue. There were enough Easter Eggs in that one to fill many baskets. When I realized Number One was playing Lucille Ball and Captain Pike was Roddenberry I about fell over laughing. Then Uhura delivers a speech about the real mission of the series. Sniff.

I also got a kick out of the musical episode. You just never know what’s next with that series. I’m glad there will be a few more episodes before Pike’s accident.

Hard Goals

What was the hardest personal goal you’ve set for yourself?

As tired as I am, I can answer this one (I don’t answer blog prompts lately because I’ve answered most of them). That’s good, because it was another day of barely getting through work and not being able to do much more.

I finished coloring this. It took a week or so in small doses.

So, I’ve probably mentioned this before and will again. But for years I had a hard time being the person I felt I could be, and it turns out I had a lot to do with it. Thanks to some issues in my birth family and an inherently sensitive nature, I was always very hard on myself.

I never met my own expectations. Any mistake I made lingered in my mind for a long time. I’d replay “dumb” things I said over and over. And I would constantly talk to myself in ways no one would talk to someone they cared about. I was ugly, fat, stupid, and so on. I was not nice to me.

Since I AM actually pretty smart and intuitive, I figured out that I was not helping myself with the negative self talk. So I had some therapy, talked things out with a group of safe and understanding women, meditated (a lot, still do), and read.

I’m very pleased to have come across the writing of Brené Brown. I’m also pleased someone made me read a self-help book. I find most of them really simplistic or not right for me. Her first few books opened my eyes to how much I was affecting my own self worth, and by that, encouraging others to pick at me or devalue me. Figuring out that I wasn’t the only one doing this to myself was a huge revelation. I got a much better outlook and began to heal.

I got tested a lot in this healing phase. Since I came to Cameron, a couple of people (who of course are suffering from their own internal battles) tried their best to break me down, give the community a bad impression of me, and hurt others I cared about. I’ve had some very hard times here in rural Texas, where even in a good day I’m a square peg not even trying to fit into a round hole.

But, one day, right after a very mean person was mean to me, something snapped in my brain. I told my patterns I was sick and tired of them and vowed to reframe the situation every time I started to berate myself.

Get this. It worked. After a while, weird thoughts like how good I felt, or how peaceful life was began to replace sadness. My negativity patterns have gone into background mode, and I feel so much better. Sure, that stuff is still down there and today’s trying times make feeling good about anything difficult. Yet, I honestly feel good about myself, like myself, and don’t beat myself up when I screw up (much). And of course, the horse riding lessons helped me practice gaining self confidence.

I kept telling myself I was fine just as I was and that it’s perfectly okay that not everybody likes me until it became true. I’ve even learned a bit about how to perform the once-mysterious act of “letting other people’s negativity slide right off my back.”

Maybe that’s why these bluebirds of happiness keep following me.

I try to cut others some slack, and accept those around me who confuse me just as they are. I just hope they find peace and joy on their path.

Who IS THIS version of Suna? She’s different. Not perfect, not better than anyone else, but at a good place in her spiritual journey.

So, blog prompt readers, loving myself and treating myself kindly were my hardest goals.

Now I’ll move on towards being less judgmental (making good progress), and being so afraid to speak up about what I see as wrong. There’s always room for improvement!

Mom, I Miss Her

Today my mom would have been 103, so unlike many of my friends, I never expected her to be around for me at my age. But since she has been gone for 40 years, I’ve missed her longer than I had her. I don’t dwell on this much, but something that happened to be last week brought my lack of mothering to mind.

One of the many cruel declarations against us horrible liberals asserted that we were mentally ill for supporting our LGBTQIA family and friends. It made me feel so alone and hopeless to realize this. My brain reverted to childhood, tears came to my eyes, and from deep in my past, the cry of “I want my mom” came up. I just wanted a hug from someone who unconditionally loved me.

I can still smell the Chanel No. 5 and smoke on mom as she wrapped her skinny tanned arms around me as I cried after being bullied or taunted.

It was hard being a chubby, sensitive child. It’s hard being her sensitive adult self.

I am saddened that the way people treat each other today can send me back to such raw emotional needs. Yikes. And I know I’m not alone. We all need to have a safe place, a virtual place of comfort like when you’re in your mother or father’s arms.

Mature-ish Suna must find that in herself. Ugh. (Yes, I have a fine spouse and friends, but they aren’t Mom.)

I tend to write about how Mom’s mental health issues made things difficult for me, but I assure you, she had many fine qualities, one of which was loving her children as best as she could.

She was also funny, an amazing artist and crafter, a great dancer, a gardener with a solid green thumb, a creative and resourceful cook, a fine whistler, and really good with makeup and nail polish. I remember all these traits, too.

I do miss my mom. I think she’s giving me strength via her memories. I need it.

Quiet Mourning

I’ve been quiet because I was feeling sad for the Austin music community I was on the periphery of for a few years. Many kind people are mourning the loss of Chris Gage, who in addition to his musical talent and cool adventures (he was on Hee Haw as a young man!), was a great friend, mentor, producer, entertainer, and family member. His was a life very well lived.

He was so good to my dear friend, Jeff, when he really needed the encouragement. Hearing Chris be encouraging but firm showed me his character. I’m grateful for all he did for so many other friends, too.

Some of my happiest memories during my hardest days were at Donn’s Depot, listening to him and his wife, Christine Albert, sing together, or seeing many musicians jamming. They created such a warm community. I’m glad Christine will have them and her family to surround her in coming weeks.

Never heard of Chris Gage? His story is fascinating. One of the greatest supporting musicians ever. You’ve probably seen him on Austin City Limits if you’re an Americana fan.

PS: get those prostate exams, if you have a prostate. Often. Chris was ok, then he wasn’t.

Don’t Call Me Sue

Where did your name come from?

Since today was just fine (not too hot!) and I don’t want to come across too perky like I did yesterday, I’ll just answer this here question.

My name is *Rhynchomitra recurva –* I’m a leafhopper.

My name is Sue Ann. This is nothing new to evil internet scum. The internet has known my name since 1989, back in Usenet days.

Two-word given names are common in the southern USA, from where I and my ancestors of many generations hailed. Most of my dad’s sisters had them, Bettye Sue and Doris Ann were two of them. It appears that my parents were expecting a boy when I emerged from Mom’s twilight sleep. But there I was, including all my curly hair. They were going to name a boy Edwin (my father’s first name that he only used on official business) but they must have rejected Edwina (a name of a very funny older woman I once knew). I’m glad they saved it for my brother (Lee also had a brother named Edwin).

Look, corn. Someone lost their harvest. Nothing to do with names, except to say, “We call it maize.”

Anyway, I’m glad they eventually named me after the above-mentioned two of Dad’s sisters. Again, I’m relieved not to be Bettye Doris. Most of my life I liked my name other than a brief time I wanted to be Susanna. What I don’t like is the name Sue by itself. It’s fine for my friends named Sue (popular name of my generation), but I don’t like it for me. I don’t respond to it, and if someone calls me that, they go down a notch in my estimation. It’s like calling someone who goes by Will, Bill. So, if you ever meet me or send me a message, remember my two-word name.

Sue Ann means graceful lily according to name origins. So not me. I’m more sturdy, like this snow on the prairie plant.

You are always welcome to call me my alternate name, Suna, which I’ve had over half my life. Long story there.

No doubt I’ve told this particular story before, but I’m not up to scouring the archives to see. You can do it, of course. Feel free!

Alternative: look at the pretty morning sky.

Off I go, now, to come up with better topics and hope for rains.

Book Report: Where the Forest Meets the Stars

My friend Carolyn M recommended this book to me, because she said I had so much in common with the protagonist (and with the author). I’m glad she did, because the book is very sweet and took me down some literal memory lanes.

Where the Forest Meets the Stars (2019) is the first novel by Glendy Vanderah. She worked as an endangered bird specialist and apparently attended the same graduate school I did, in Champaign-Urbana, Illinois. This also describes the book’s protagonist, Joanna. That’s where the memory lanes come in. I was taken back to my twenties when I, too, traveled up and down Interstate 57 and wandered Urbana’s “state” streets, admiring the gracefully aging Tudor-style homes of my professors.

Illinois, too, has sunflowers on the roadside, out of the reach of pre-emergent herbicides.

The novel isn’t entirely about driving through east-central Illinois and its endless miles of corn and soybeans, though. There’s a mysterious young girl who claims to be from another galaxy, Indigo Buntings, cancer survival, and (of course) a love interest.

No, this isn’t the greatest novel ever, but it’s an enjoyable read and the plot twists are fun. It was perfect for making a long plane flight feel short! And I have to say I ended up fond of all the characters, both major and minor.

I’m happy to share this book with someone local, but it would cost less to order a used copy than for me to mail it. You might find that the little girl from space provides a nice respite from whatever is burdening your mind, plus you’ll get a glimpse into the place I lived from 1980-1998.

Good night from the land of heat and humidity.

Everything Is Connected

Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.

Fine. I found an article on the worst cars of the early 1970s, the Ford Pinto, Chevrolet Vega, and AMC Gremlin. These are three small cars introduced to fight the tiny Japanese imports from Toyota, Datsun (future Nissan), Honda, etc.

How does this article about bad cars of yore connect to my life? Remember now, I’m old. My first car was a 1972 Ford Pinto wagon. It was light blue with fake wood paneling. It was originally purchased for my mother, but the second I got my license, it was passed on to me to drive my brother and myself to school activities. Mom hated driving on “big roads.” My high school friends and I enjoyed blasting the little radio and cruising by the homes of cute boys.

This poor car could only hit 70 mph going downhill and had a radiator too small for its engine. But it carted me, my boyfriend (one of the cute high school boys) and our roommates back and forth through college.

It went forward and held 4-ish people. This was the car of my other male high school best friend.

The actual Pinto coupe shown above was smaller than the wagon. It was great for me, Anita, and the two guys, but add a fifth person and someone had to sit on the dreaded hump in the minuscule back seat. Of course, hormonal teens enjoyed the forced closeness. Good times.

My second car magically appeared one day in the summer between my junior and senior years of college, after too many Pinto issues. I had high hopes for an upgrade. Nope. 1974 AMC Gremlin. Black, black interior, aftermarket air conditioner. Just perfect for a summer commute in South Florida. Sarcasm there.

Speaking of heat and humidity, these Lark Sparrows are here to say today’s humidity was awful.

But the Gremlin got me through three years or more of grad school in Illinois until it got us (me and same boyfriend) home from Florida in a blizzard and never moved again. Thus ended my time with two of the three worst cars of the 70s.

By the way, my friend Lynn’s dad had a Vega, so I got to experience it as well. Those cars rusted through amazingly quickly near the ocean.

[car photos from Motor Trend in 2001]

Mission accomplished. I related the article to my life. It was nice to think back on fun teen memories. A dear friend from that time is very ill right now, and thinking of good times when we rode in our little cars is a balm to my heart.

Tarot card of the day was The Teacher again. I drew it just before an educational talk by my horse teacher.

My First Crush…

Write about your first crush.

I’m only answering this question because I didn’t have any great topics today. So I’ll tell you about my dreamy seventh-grade crush. There are no photos of him to share since I lost my yearbook. Here’s an approximation.

Also a teen crush of mine, though it turns out David Cassidy was nicer.

Kevin Murray was a year ahead of me in school but we were in Spanish class together. I thought he was both hilarious and incredibly cool, because he owned rock and roll albums. I didn’t have a record player that would play them yet.

He picked on me a lot, but it didn’t bother me because I was a new person in junior high and was one of the popular kids in the academic track. We all picked on each other and had nicknames for each other. Man, seventh grade was GREAT. We had young, hip teachers and spent a lot of time writing plays based on Star Trek and publishing the school newsletter on mimeo paper. Mmm, that smell.

Back to Kevin. I thought that long (for 1971) red hair, those green eyes, and the freckles made him look like a sexy leprechaun. Or something. Anyway, he showed me he liked me by randomly showing up on my street and pretending to steal my new, very cool, red-white-and-blue Murray Eliminator bike (same name as him, so obviously it was his).

This is the general idea, but wrong color.

I showed I liked him by riding my bike around his house in case he might come outside, and drooling over his parents’ incredible blue Citröen car.

I mean, that’s as cool as my bike, right?

We had a fun summer of innocent pre-teen flirtation. My dad found us very funny, pretending to be annoyed by each other. He kept telling me “that boy likes you.”

Then I was moved to South Florida despite my protests, and that was it. No email, no texting, no Facebook, so no contact. If letters were exchanged, I don’t recall. No, I do not need to find him. I’ll just treasure my dim memories.

I pined for Kevin until the summer after ninth grade when I met the boy I’d really swoon for. That’s another story.

Weird postscript: by the time my younger son, an actual Irish boy, was a toddler, I realized who he looked like. Eww.

My son as a toddler. Red hair, green eyes, freckles.

On the other hand, I now have an idea of what adult Kevin would have looked like, though I don’t think he grew to be 6’3”.

Three Significant Books

List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?

I have chosen three books (I actually discuss five, but one is a runner-up and two are related) that shaped me in that magical period when I was transitioning into an adult and my capacity for intellectual growth was at its peak. Each book was written when I was testing limits, making poor decisions I search of good decisions, and preparing to emerge a more rational and stable human. I’m grateful to have learned from these authors.

Metaphors We Live By

This book is by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, two important scholars in pragmatics, the field I studied in graduate school. The thesis of the book is this:

The book suggests metaphor is a tool that enables people to use what they know about their direct physical and social experiences to understand more abstract things like work, time, mental activity and feelings. Wikipedia

My thinking about how society works, how media persuades audiences to, and how politicians manipulate the public have all been deeply affected by the ideas in this book.

My favorite example is the pervasiveness of the war metaphor. It’s one reason I can’t stand the phrase, “shoot me an email.” Business communication is just crawling with war terminology. Business is war. Politics is war. Love is a battlefield. This book was the impetus for me being me.

I recommend George Lakoff’s other works, as well. Once you start to see metaphors embedded in the language around you, you can’t forget it.

The Color Purple

I’m guessing most of you have been exposed to this work, originally a 1982 book by Alice Walker, in one form or another. I read it when it first came out, having read no reviews and knowing nothing about the author. This means my experience of The Color Purple wasn’t influenced by any preconceptions.

I was 24 when I read it. I’d never read an epistolary novel before, so I was charmed by the letter-writing format and how clearly the writer’s voice came through in each letter. I was also still fairly naive about how horrible humans can be to each other. The resilience and bravery the characters in the book affected me deeply.

The Color Purple told me that I, too, could survive and thrive in a world that threw many challenges at me. The characters have never left me and I’m not sure why.

I did love the film with Oprah Winfree in it. I just experienced it differently and got additional insights into the strength it takes to be your authentic self. I haven’t seen any other version and I’m okay with that. This is my favorite novel.

Runner Up: The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood (1985). I can’t bring myself to watch the television series. This book was too prescient.

The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets and The Skeptical Feminist

These are two books by Barbara G. Walker, also a prominent knitting writer of this time period. Both came out in the mid-1980s. These books introduced me to the idea of the maiden, mother, and crone archetypes.

The encyclopedia was my first introduction to feminist theology, and though it suffered from the same issues as many early neopagan writing (interpreting historical references and artifacts to support a mythical matriarchal past world, etc.), it still taught me enough to get me started on a lifetime of spiritual exploration. I can still remember sitting in my bedroom in Urbana, Illinois devouring this book when I should have been dissertating.

The Skeptical Feminist may not be in print anymore, but it reassured me that my weird philosophical leanings since childhood weren’t signs of insanity—I just didn’t have the words and concepts to explain my vague yearnings to be one with nature. It also reassured me that I don’t have to “believe in” some deity to apply archetypes and metaphors (them again) as I forge my own beliefs. Whew.

I use this information today as I draw from the wisdom of Jesus without identifying as Christian and take comfort in Buddhist ideas without adhering strictly to any form. It’s so helpful in these times.

Fears, I’ve Had a Few

What fears have you overcome and how?

Fearful is not how I’d ever describe myself. I feel more like my horse, Apache, who is always vigilant against the unexpected and anxious when asked to do new things. We have a lot in common, he and I, which may explain why our progress is becoming a skilled horse/rider pair has been steady, but slow.

That leads me into one of the fears I’ve been working to overcome, which is the fear of cantering on this horse. I’d probably have been cantering long ago if I had a different equine partner, but Apache is the horse I was kindly given, so he’s who I’ve worked with. And cantering was never his best skill. His tendency to do a kick/buck maneuver whenever he set off to canter when he was younger is one reason my friend Sara gave him to me. She wanted to canter (as a good rider, she knew how) but his imbalance made it scary on him. Heck, he even kicked out to start cantering without a rider for the longest time.

But years of exercise, bodywork, good medicine, and work on his feet led to much improvement. He now sets off very well and only on the wrong lead some of the time. After my trainer worked with him under saddle, he can now do a fine job, and that led me to overcome my fear of cantering on him. Plus I’m way better at staying on when he has a hiccup.

And if I fall I’m just closer to the rain lilies.

A key to overcoming that fear is a skill I’ve only managed to develop in the past few years, which is to push past my anxiety and DO the thing. Riding horses has helped a lot with developing that ability, one many folks are born with. I was born cautious, very cautious. It’s amazing I learned to ride a bicycle. On the other hand, I didn’t break any bones as a child, thanks to caution.

Even this precious dog didn’t break my bones when he pulled me down a steep hill. Precious.

You might not believe this one, but once I was quite afraid to do things by myself. I really didn’t like being alone (other than teen years of being in my bedroom listening to my records). I can remember how proud I was of myself when I walked out of my hotel in Toronto, and ate a meal by myself. It was a whole fish, prepared beautifully, and I had a good time. Working in Toronto for weeks at a time was good for me. I discovered I could ride a subway without a helpful friend, I could have a drink in a bar and enjoy talking to people, etc.

Now I think nothing about eating alone, walking around a new town by myself, or going on long walks in nature. Of course, I’ve educated myself about safety in cities and nature, and I do prefer nature. I know how to spot the plants and animals to avoid. Learning about what you fear is a great way to overcome fears.

On another note, we almost have a screened porch!

I’m glad I can now take a deep breath and just DO a thing. It’s been very helpful in surviving life on a ranch property. I don’t realize how scary my everyday life can be to others until I get an urban visitor. I just know to check for snakes in the henhouse, watch my steps for fire ants, and avoid the poison ivy and nettle patches. I’ve educated myself so I’m not afraid!